Page 54 of All's Fair In Love & War

I took her small hand into mine and nodded at Kendrick, who had been watching us from afar the entire time. He nodded, already in motion, securing the hallways behind us. Power moved in silence, and mine trailed me like a shadow.

The fun stuff lived in the back. It was an afterthought for most, but those who attended left as different people. I led Sophia to a private elevator, thumbed in the code, and let the mirrored walls reflect her hunger back at her. She leaned into me, never quite submitting but never outright resisting when I wrapped my arm around her either.

The doors whooshed open onto a suite that didn’t appear on any blueprint. It smelled faintly of sandalwood and money.I pressed my palm to the scanner, and the lights flicked on in a blue haze.

There was a panoramic view of the city. From this high up, we were gods, untouchable, insulated, untamed. The room was set up with a velvet-tufted bench, a wall of mirrored glass, and racks of toys, ranging from utilitarian to ornate. Every surface was velvet, leather, or marble, opulence with a pulse.

Sophia ran her hands over everything she passed, examining each piece with a scientist’s precision and an artist’s curiosity. When she reached the wall display housing the leather cuffs, gold-dipped paddles, and engraved blades, she removed a crop, then snapped it lightly against the palm of her own hand.

“You put these to use, or are they just for show?”

I grinned and closed the distance, so close that the heat from her skin threatened to set my suit on fire. “You want a demonstration?”

“I want the truth,” she said, and there was no tease in her eyes now, only that wild, unblinking intensity that lived in the Bulgari genes.

I plucked the crop from her hand. “Put both hands on the bench, palms flat. Don’t move.”

Sophia arched her back, hands splayed on the velvet-tufted bench, presenting herself like an offering. Her garter straps strained against her thighs as she bent over, her ass high in the air, her pussy on full display, hair spilling down to hide her face.

I gave her a warning tap, the crop snapping lightly against her right thigh. “That one was to wake the nerves,” I said, my voice low and rough. “You ready for more?”

She didn’t answer—she just spread her legs wider, her pussy glistening like she was already dripping for me. And goddamn, I was ready to ruin her.

The next landed across the left, a bit meaner, and she didn’t cry out. Instead, Sophia pressed her body harder into the bench, her nails denting the velvet, a soft gasp escaping her beautiful lips.

I delivered the third across the crease of her ass, just above the lace thong, the impact sharp and immediate.

“Color?” I asked, voice low.

She tilted her chin, eyes narrow but alert. “Green,” she replied, her word crisp and annoyed, letting me know she wanted more.

I tossed the crop aside and dragged my palm up the inside of her thigh until I felt the heat between her legs. She was wet and getting off on this like I’d predicted she would.

I cupped her pussy, thumb grazing the edge of that soaked lace. “You could’ve worn nothing,” I rumbled, voice gone gravel. “But you wore this for me. Tell me why.”

She didn’t glance back, just said, “Because I came here to fuck. I didn’t want you to think this was anything more.”

She said it so matter-of-factly, without a goddamn ounce of apology in her tone. I’d met men who confessed to murder with more shame in their voice.

I almost laughed, but the sight of her, bent over the velvet, took the edge off my amusement and replaced it with the pure compulsion to see how far she’d let me take it. I hooked my finger into the lace, tugged the thong aside, and ran my tongue down the length of her slit. I wanted to taste her. There was a hint of salt, the musk of skin, and then that faint electric tang I only ever found in women who liked to disobey.

She shivered from crown to tailbone, the shock of my tongue forcing a gasp out of her. I didn’t tease her long, only enough to make her greedily arch her back deeper.

Her voice came out, ragged and almost mockingly sweet, “Are you going to keep playing with your food, or are you planning to actually eat?”

Then her hand shot back with the speed of a striking snake, palm flattening against my chest, nails biting the skin through my shirt. She twisted off the bench, eyes locked on mine, lips curled into something almost cruel.

Sophia adjusted her position, sitting on the edge of the bench with her legs slightly apart. She reached back, slid her thong down, removed it, and clenched it in her hand.

"You really don’t know who you’re fucking with, Dallas," she said, her eyes defiantly locking onto mine. "You thought I would come here, you’d fuck the shit out of me, and I’d walk away with my pussy tucked between my legs?" She slapped me across the face and grabbed a fistful of my hair. “You got the wrong bitch.”

My hair wasn’t long, barely even an inch, but the grip she had on me made my scalp scream. The pain made my ears ring, but my blood sang, and I snapped to, grabbing Sophia by the wrist and twisting her arm behind her back so fast her body slammed to the velvet with a thud. She gasped, a flash of pain in her eyes, but that wild, rabid smile never faltered. Her thigh muscles flexed as she tried to buck me, but I pressed my weight into her, pinning her easily.

“Something tells me you’re used to weak ass niggas that let you have your way, but I’m not them. I’m the last motherfucker you’ll ever break.”

Her laughter was low and feral as she met my eyes in the mirror, the black glass amplifying every warped reflection of us.

“Then hit me like you mean it,” she spat, daring me to take things further.

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